Page 27 of The Puppet Master
He chuckles. “I’m actually pretty useless to tell you the truth. I was rich before I came here, so my role was basically handing over my wealth.”
“You bought yourself in.”
“Yep.” He nods, lips pulling to one side. His voice is light, but his expression looks almost remorseful. Before he can go on, two little girls appear down the path, purple streamers whipping the earthy air as they giggle across the grass.
One sees us and waves excitedly. “Hi Sawyer!”
His face lights up—remorse gone; joy locking into place. “Lily! How are you? How’s Mom?”
The girls skip our way and take turns slapping Sawyer’s raised hand, his knees bent to their level.
“We’re having ice cream!”
“Ice cream?” He drops his jaw. “You better save some for me.”
One girl giggles while the other finds my eyes. For half a second, her smile breaks. She looks down, cheeks turning red as they both run away. Her flicker of discomfort is the most normal thing about that encounter. Thelackof reaction is a bigger giveaway than if they’d forgotten their lines.
No one looks into my eyes without grimacing.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s really not that bad here…” Sawyer trails, glancing at me. Reading my reactions the way I’m reading his. Hopefully not nearly as talented as I am, though his acting is certainly better than I’m capable.
A breeze sweeps the hair on the back of my neck, even as the air stands stock-still. I shiver.
“You’re right. It sounds crazy.”
He chuckles, more nervous than amused. Like he feels judged. Like it matters in the slightest what I think.
“That’s fair… In truth, my wife was the one who heard about this place. She spent most of her adult life running charities for impoverished nations, and I think she was just tired of the fight. So when she heard about this wealthyutopiawhere everyone shared resources and no one went without, it appealed to her. Neither of us knew about the kidnappings… I can’t decide if I’m sad she never got to experience this place or happy she didn’t have to see the dark side of her dream.”
I look down at my wool-clad feet as Sawyer’s grief overpowers the sidewalk. He makes space for me when I slip off the edge of the concrete, but I’m more comfortable walking in the grass, my feet growing damp as the stockings soak up dew.
“How did she die?” I ask, voice low. Respectful.
When I look up at him, he’s staring off—sorrowful—watching a pecan fall from a tree.
“She was poisoned… Somebody tainted bottles of champagne at a charity event she organized. The detectives said it was a criminal group targeting an individual there.”
My arms loosen from around my chest as he closes his watery eyes, a stubborn tear sneaking onto his cheek. He swipes it away, Adam’s apple bobbing.
My mind hunts for the lie inside his grief, but… nothing. It looks sincere—too sincere, even as his story sounds absurd. He’d have to be a sociopath to fake tears like that.
I slow to a stop and turn away from his grief. My hand reaches for my ring as discomfort settles. But it isn’t there.
A sharp inhale—quiet, sudden—and my gaze darts to my bare, webbed finger, as if the emerald might be hiding in a crease.
But it’s gone.
I clasp my finger. My eyes squeeze shut as I try to remember whether I had the ring in the cave.
Don’t panic. It’s just metal.
My father’s voice follows, cold and clipped:Don’t be dramatic
“Is everything okay?” Sawyer asks gently.
I keep my eyes shut another second.
It’s just a ring.
